


Made for a Favor

by Raicho



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bottom Daryl Dixon, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Hurt Daryl Dixon, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage Sex, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9463280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicho/pseuds/Raicho
Summary: Merle’s always been a creature of intimidating brute force, but Daryl’s had to gradually grow into his prowess and size—he can still easily remember a time back when he was nothing more than scrawny limbs and awkward grace trying to ask Merle for a second chance at mercy. And he’ll be the first to admit that it’s hard to completely break free from that headspace… the same one he finds himself falling into right now because Merle’s voice and those words sound just like they did all those years ago when they first started this taboo thing between them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : references of past child abuse, past sexual abuse of a minor, dub-con/non-con.
> 
> Unbeta'd

                        It’s already been a long day full of emotional turmoil and violence, but Daryl knows it’s only bound to be made worse as soon as his brother opens his mouth to speak. They’re alone together in the opposite cellblock from the rest of the group, away from prying eyes and judging sneers as the two of them prepare to settle in for their first night together since having been reunited.

            “Looks like you got your way after all, baby brother,” Merle rumbles as he steps into the secured cell, “Now ain’t that somethin’.”

            He knows Merle’s looking to egg him into something destructive, trying to twist Daryl’s arm in a way that the younger Dixon won’t be able to deflect or deny, but Daryl’s adamant about keeping a respectable distance so long as he can help it. So instead of really responding, Daryl just leans against a wall and shrugs.

            “Went through hell an’ back today for ya.”

            Daryl nods. They both went through hell and back, and it wasn’t just for Daryl’s sake, either. But he doesn’t need to argue that point right now.

            “Saw the way you was makin’ them doe-eyes at Officer Friendly,” Merle chuckles as he scratches at the stubble along the underside of his chin, “Used to think you’d only look at me like that.”

            Daryl used to think that, too.

            “Weren’t nothin’, Merle.” Daryl tries to deflect. He knows the truth isn’t always the best answer to feed his brother. But for the record, it’s completely true, what Merle’s saying he witnessed unfold earlier between the hunter and the group’s leader. Daryl’s completely tangled up in Rick Grimes, whether Merle likes it or not.

            “Sure thing, little brother. Lemme just add that to the pile of bullshit I keep hearin’ fallin’ outta yer mouth today.”

            Daryl rolls his eyes and huffs, “C’mon, man, just drop it.”

            “Oh, I’ll drop it alright. But only if you drop ‘em pants of yer’s…” Merle hums as he takes another step into the tight space of the cell.

            There’s about a foot or two of empty air that separates the two brothers from one another, but it’s quickly shrinking with each passing second as Merle takes another step closer and closer. And Daryl can’t help but suck in a breath, biting his lower lip as he attempts to not cower in front of his older, more imposing brother like he did back when they were kids.

            Merle’s always been a creature of intimidating brute force, but Daryl’s had to gradually grow into his prowess and size—he can still easily remember a time back when he was nothing more than scrawny limbs and awkward grace trying to ask Merle for a second chance at mercy. And he’ll be the first to admit that it’s hard to completely break free from that headspace… the same one he finds himself falling into right now because Merle’s voice and those words sound just like they did all those years ago when they first started this taboo thing between them.

            With a few more steps, Merle closes the space between them. His chest is pressed firmly against Daryl’s, and his nostrils are flaring like a mad bull’s while he looks down at his younger sibling squirming beneath his gaze, “Think you owe me a favor, Darylina.”

            Daryl can feel Merle’s hot breath tickle along the expanse of his exposed neck, and he braces himself as he dares to look up and into his older brother’s steel-cold eyes. He finds something predatory in Merle’s gaze, the way one would expect a hyena to look on at a freshly slaughtered carcass. Daryl gulps, “What d’ya want, Merle?”

            “Take care of somethin’ for me.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand. And Daryl knows that, somehow, by the end of the night he’ll have done exactly what it is that Merle’s asked him to do, whether he wants to or not—because big brothers always have a way of getting what they want.

            Calloused fingers come up to twist into the belt loops of the hunter’s jeans, pulling him closer to press against Merle’s groin, and Daryl sighs. He can immediately feel Merle’s painfully hard erection digging into the meat of his thigh through the tattered, dirty layers of their denim.

            “Merle, s’not like that no more.” Daryl uselessly tries to counter; tries to worm his way out of this impossibly difficult situation, “I don’t do that anymore.”

            But Merle isn’t listening to him. Not now—not ever. Merle just takes.

            Merle’s fingers move from belt loop to zipper as quickly as a lightning strike, and Daryl’s fighting against everything ingrained within himself that’s telling him to ‘just take it’. It’s a lot of courage to work up, because hindering Merle Dixon is like trying to stop a hurricane from hitting shore, but Daryl manages it all the same and he reaches a hand out to grip at Merle’s wrist, “Merle, stop.”

            Merle huffs before pulling his wrist free from Daryl, “Ain’t nothin’ in the world can stop this, little brother.”

            With another firm tug, Merle manages to pull Daryl’s trousers down to his ankles, leaving the hunter completely bare from the waist down. He gives a low rumble of satisfaction and licks his lips before allowing his hand to trace along the curved globes of Daryl’s ass.

            “Mmm.”

            Daryl can’t help but shiver beneath his brother’s touch. It’s something so familiar; something that’d been a staple in his life for as long as he can remember. And for as close as the two of them used to be, this should’ve been like riding a bicycle in the summer heat or putting on his favorite pair of shoes. But everything in this moment is unwelcomed.

            “Merle, c’mon, I said stop it.”

            Merle does stop, but it’s not for the reason Daryl was hoping for.

            Merle pulls himself back and levels Daryl with a mean stare before snarling, “You think just ‘cause you let Officer Friendly taste yer pussy once ya gotta save yerself for ‘im now?”

            Daryl flinches at the harsh tone his brother’s words take on, voice booming through the empty cellblock. He feels himself shrinking against the concrete wall behind him, leaning against its cool surface to help support and root himself in the moment.

            “You was mine first. Not his.” Merle growls as he crowds into Daryl’s space again and wraps his hand around his younger brother’s jaw, “You was always mine.”

            Daryl shuts his eyes for a moment, silently praying that Merle would back off soon enough as long as he just remained quiet and unmoving. But Merle leans in further, burying his nose against the junction of Daryl’s neck and shoulder, soaking in the hunter’s scent of sweat and blood between playful licks and nips.

            “Ain’t no one know how to touch you like I can.” He purrs against Daryl’s throat before lifting his head to capture Daryl’s lips in a violent, possessive kiss.

            Daryl’s left breathless and blind from Merle’s attention, “Stop…”

            “He don’t love you.”

            Another kiss. Another moment of breathless confusion.

            “None of them love you. Never will.” Merle bites at Daryl’s bottom lip until he draws blood, “But you an’ me, brotha’, we’re blood. We’ve got history.”

            When Merle’s fingers leave his jaw, there’s a cold, metallic surface that begins to glide along Daryl’s left thigh, tracing its way up along the outline of his body, snaking beneath the fabric of his vest and shirt until its pointed tip digs into his pebbled nipple. Daryl gasps.

            “You’re wrong.”

            “Ain’t wrong.” Merle grins as he pulls at Daryl’s shirt with his bayonet prosthetic, “The truth hurts, baby brother.”

            “They’ve showed me—” Daryl uselessly tries to argue against Merle’s logic, but right now, in this moment, he’s not sure what’s fact or fiction anymore.

            “Showed you what? Betrayal? If they loved you like ya say they do, then they would’a welcomed you back with me at yer side.” The buttons of Daryl’s shirt pop and fall to the floor one by one as Merle’s blade plucks at the strings and tears at the fabric on the last stitch of clothing covering the hunter’s chest, “Blood is blood. I’m the only one that’s gonna stay by yer side.”

            Daryl knows there could be an ounce of truth in whatever it is that Merle's trying to argue. _Was he important? Did no one care enough to bend for him?_

            Merle pulls away to lap at his brother’s sensitive nipples and rub his crotch against Daryl’s leg. Daryl just stands fazed and unresponsive beneath his brother’s ministrations, lost in letting Merle’s words sink into place like a pit of cooling tar. By the time Daryl has the awareness to speak, Merle’s already started fumbling with the fastenings of his own pants, “Merle?”

            _Should he try to stop this?_

            “Shh, baby brotha’,” Merle coos in his ear as he begins to maneuver Daryl toward the bed with his back turned against Merle’s chest, “I’m here now. We’ll make this all better, don’t you worry.”

            _Or is history meant to repeat itself?_

            Half believing in Merle’s words, Daryl lets himself be pushed and pulled into position without resistance. He rests his head gently overtop the only pillow on the bed and allows his mind to drift for a moment, wondering if blood really is the only thing that can be relied upon. He blocks out every memory of Rick telling him otherwise.

            Daryl hears a wad of spit hit flesh before he feels slick fingers dipping between his legs, invading the hollow space of his opening and scissoring him like an untouched virgin. It feels like watching the same movie for the fifteenth time, but he makes no move to pause the film.

            “Can’t rely on no one else.”

            Fingers retract, and Daryl’s left empty.

            “You best remember that.”

            A blunt pressure is at Daryl's entrance, and he has to take a breath and remind himself to relax; it’s the same old song and dance he’s been performing for the entirety of his life. One more performance won't kill him.

            All at once, Daryl can feel Merle’s length push in and stretch him like a rubber band. There’s some discomfort as Merle continues to push in and pull his brother deeper onto his cock. He's sure there's a bit of blood dribbling onto the mattress, but Daryl feels it useless to voice his pain—he’s too caught up in the apathy and confusion that his brother’s planted in his head like a farmer waiting for the harvest.

            “Just like I never left.” Merle sighs once he’s completely sheathed from tip to root, “Fit me like a glove.” Merle chuckles a bit before giving Daryl’s spread rear a firm slap with the flat palm of his hand, “He ain’t ever gonna fit you this good.”

            And Daryl supposes that no, Rick won’t ever fit him as good as Merle did. No one will.

            Merle used to tell him all the time when they were younger that Daryl was made just for him—a little plaything God thought would be a proper enough reward to give to Merle for putting up with their daddy’s nightly rages. Daryl used to believe him, too.

            In fact, Daryl used to think it was normal when Merle would creep into his bedroom and slip beneath his sheets to play with the tender parts between his legs. He used to think it was just something that brothers did for each other, returning the favor of one pleasurable moment for another. It wasn’t until he’d met the group—met Rick—that he’d discovered just how obsolete and backwoods that way of thinking had been. What he’d found with Rick had been healthy, but what he had—no, _has_ —with Merle is toxic. Always has been, and always will be.

            “Goddamn, Darylina, yer as tight as they come!” Merle moans against his ear as he thrusts violently against Daryl. In and out, in and out.

            Daryl lets himself fall into the moment and he’s instantly taken aback by the sheer rapture of physicality being forced upon him by his toxic partner. It's like running through a candy store with a mouthful of sugar—bittersweet and exhilarating. _Maybe he does want this after all._

            Daryl moans, “Oh, God…”

            Merle barks out a sharp laugh before pushing in and pinning Daryl against the dirty mattress with a final thrust before bursting, “Ain’t no God in this bed.”

            Daryl lets the wet-hot sensation of Merle’s release fill him to the brim with regret.


End file.
